


Dolor

by Bofur1



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Gen, Glóin misses his family, Khuzdul, Nostalgia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-20
Updated: 2013-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-15 13:43:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/850201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Bofur1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glóin's homesickness is at its peak.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dolor

After starting a merry fire with the Rivendell furniture, the Company began settling for the few hours of sleep to be had. Glóin was grateful for the small amount of time he had to himself. For a while now homesickness had been gnawing at his heart.

Glóin turned his back on his friends and waited until their snores told him all was clear. Sitting up, he fished a hand beneath his undershirt and grasped the chain hanging about his neck. With trembling hands he unlocked the tiny clasp on his locket. His breath caught in his throat as he laid eyes on the wife and child he’d left in the Blue Mountains.

Heartache assaulted so quickly Glóin almost didn’t have time to register it. Nor did he didn’t realize he was crying until the breeze chilled the tearstains on his cheeks. These moments of peace were a curse, for this was when Glóin’s nostalgia was cruelest.

He remembered the last night spent with his wife. Wrapped around each other in bed, they spoke quietly, trying to say the things they needed to before the dawn came.

Glóin pressed his forehead to hers as he whispered, “...I will think of you every day, every moment, mahila.”

Gwulla chuckled softly. “You cannot do that. You must keep your mind on the battles you will fight.”

“But still I will miss you,” Glóin averred.

“And I you, my âzyungâl. But you will return to us soon enough, as a rich and honored lord,” Gwulla reminded him gently. “And we will take our son to the home for which he was truly meant.” The lines around her eyes crinkled in concern as she watched her husband’s face change. “Entlin?” she probed worriedly.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t go,” Glóin gulped. “I could stay here; you’ll be all alone with the boy—” His voice broke, and he started to pull away. Glóin had started to realize exactly what he was abandoning, and his remorse because of it was shameful.

Gwulla’s grip on him tightened. “Listen to me, Glóin!” she said fiercely, and her change of tone brought his eyes to hers. “It’s true that you are in charge of this family, but you are also _your_ _own person_. You have a right to free will. If you want to go on the Quest, go. You will go with our love, and we will wait for you until you return.”

Glóin paused, and nodded slowly, allowing himself to be drawn back to her. “I will never deserve you, my sieva,” he murmured, burying his hand in her long hair.

“Glóin, you always have.” One this note, the two had fallen asleep.

The morning farewell to Gimli had been just as painful. With hopeful eyes Gimli had clung to him, entreating, “Adad, let me go too! I’ll fight with you and Uncle Óin, and—”

Glóin cut in gently. “Thank you, Gimli, but you are still a Dwarfling. This is for the elders to do.”

“Kíli—!”

“He is fifteen years older than you, my young one. If it had been up to me, I would have left him behind, but that is the Prince’s decision. However, you are _my_ son, and I have to leave you behind.”

Gimli looked devastated. Mutely, he hugged Glóin’s waist and then stepped back, sniffing and staring at the floor. That was the last Glóin had seen of him.

—

Glóin pressed his eyes closed and held the locket against his chest. How he longed to send them some kind of message, some kind of reassurance and comfort. He wanted them to know how much he missed them.

As he let the tears fall freely Glóin thought of what he would say in a letter to them. Glóin had never considered himself poetic, but he suddenly found himself composing words that might even impress the eloquent Ori.

 _Gwulla, my mízimel...you know I’m desperate for you when I miss the arguments that we have. Nothing is hurting me more than waking up each day without you by my side. I don’t get to see your smile, to hear your laughter, to fall asleep in your arms, or even get a glimpse of you. But I know you’re always with me. Maybe not physically, but at heart you're always here. I miss you_.

 _Gimli, azaghâlithûh, I miss you more than the sun misses the sky at night. I miss you when something really good or funny happens because I want to share it with you because I love it when you laugh. I miss you when something is troubling me because even though you’re young, you’re the one who understands me. I’m yearning for the day when we will be together once more. For that day to be here now, I’d give anything. I miss you_.

 After a long while the ache in Glóin’s chest loosened a bit, and he was able to stem the flow of tears. He remembered his ama once saying, “Strong people cry sometimes, fall sometimes and feel like giving up sometimes, but what makes them strong is that they keep on going anyway.”

He would be strong for his family, Glóin vowed as he closed his eyes and tried to sleep. He would keep going, and make them proud.

**Author's Note:**

> Khuzdûl Translations
> 
> mahila: my princess  
> âzyungâl: lover  
> entlin: sweetheart  
> sieva: wife  
> mízimel: light of (all) lights  
> azaghâlithûh: my little warrior


End file.
